Sharing a bottle of Whiskey
by Andorra97
Summary: While the family is away at Scotland, Tom is still sad and depressed. He finds an unexpected companion when he tries to drown his sorrows. Short glimpse of what I would like to see in the CS. CHAPTER 3: It's May 1922 and a particular bad day for Tom Branson.
1. Chapter 1

_A few days I was getting depressed over the Christmas Special, because we didn't get any bit of Tom Branson in the promos. Until today! Now at least now we know he's really in it and once again I'm looking forward to it. _

_But I really want some nice Tom scenes and the following one is something I would really like to see! I love Allen's and Rob's bromance and so I really would like a nice Tom and Thomas scene._

_The lyrics are from the song "Johnson's motor car" which was obviously popular in Ireland 1920._

_Thank you so much to Scarlet for editing this story!_

**Sharing a bottle of Whiskey.**

The light in the garage was the only sign that someone was in there at this late hour of the night. Thomas Barrow stared through the window, but couldn't see anyone. Had Pratt simply forgotten to turn off the lights before he left for his five days off?

The Crawley family had left for two weeks to visit their relations in Scotland, only Mr. Branson and little Miss Branson were still at the house and they didn't require much attention. Mr. Branson took his meals with the staff downstairs although Mr. Carson wasn't happy about it, but couldn't really insist on serving him dinner upstairs. Even more so, as he was still uncomfortable about serving the ex chauffeur at all. He was a member of the family now, but with the rest of the family gone, it seemed odd to pretend Tom Branson was of higher rank than the staff.

So now the staff had two weeks to spend either catching up on work that couldn't be done while the family was around or like Pratt, Tom Branson's replacement, was taking the opportunity to visit his own family. The rest of the staff was enjoying their spare time. Tonight, they were all off to the fair in Grantham village. Thomas had wanted to go with them, but halfway through their stroll towards the village he had decided this wasn't a good idea and he turned around. Nobody was talking to him anyway and he was sick of getting odd glances from Alfred or Jimmy all the time.

He decided to go the short way back and just passed the garage when he heard someone singing.

_"What will my local brethren think, when they hear the news  
My car it has been commandeered, by the rebels at Dunluce"  
"We'll give you a receipt for it, all signed by Captain Barr  
And when Ireland gets her freedom, boy, you'll get your motor car" _

"Who the hell...", Thomas couldn't immediately put the deep singing voice to a name, but the lyrics gave him away.

"Mr. Branson?" He stepped through the door into the garage and looked around. There he was, sitting on the floor behind the old Renault, leaning on the wall of the garage, a half empty bottle of whisky in hand.

"Well helloo there, Mr. Thomas Barrow", Tom Branson said, the words slightly slurring. "Wanna drink with me?"

Thomas grinned slightly. "Drinking uh? What's the occasion?"

"Sssad. Just ssad, Thomas. Drinking to my mmessed up life." Tom Branson suddenly looked as if he was going to cry any second. He took another gulp from the bottle and waved his hand around. "You can join if you want."

"I suppose I could", Thomas agreed and sat down beside the former chauffeur. "It's not that my life isn't pretty much messed up, too."

"Guess so. From what I've heard anyway." Tom nodded his head and handed him the bottle. "So you aren't at the fair with the others?"

Thomas laughed unhappily and took a sip. "No. Surprisingly I'm not really popular among my colleagues any more."

Tom giggled. "Oh come on, you never were. Didn't bother you then", his Irish lilt was even more noticeable when he was drunk. "But I know what you mean. Let's drink to outsiders!"

He took the bottle from Thomas' hands and raised it to his lips.

"Damn it, almost empty", he swore. "And I'm not even proppa-properly ddrunk yet."

"You seem pretty drunk to me. Wait until you get up and try to go to the house", Thomas grinned. "I bet you're going to find it more difficult than you believe."

Branson shook his head vigorously. "I don't go to the house. I'll stay here. I wanna remember Sybil. I always was here with her...my ssweet darling...", he pointed to the door with the bottle in his hand. "There. She was always standing there. So beautiful. Always so beautiful...", his voice cracked. "I need more Whiskey."

"So here it all happened then, uh?" Thomas found himself asking. It wasn't really curiosity. At least he thought it wasn't. He never had been close to the man back when he was still working as a chauffeur. Neither he nor Tom Branson had friends among the staff, but unlike him, Branson didn't have enemies either. Most of the other staff members liked Branson, because he was polite and friendly. He and Branson at least got along, which was probably more than he could say about most of his colleagues.

Tom let his head fall back to the wall. "Yes." He took another gulp. "Five years of waiting and hoping. Right here in the garage."

"Five years? You were in love with her for five years before you..." Thomas was astonished. "Never thought of that. I thought it was a sudden thing back then."

Tom sounded almost sober now all the sudden. He laughed unhappily. "No, far from sudden. I fell in love with her when I came here and stayed in love with her when she rejected me more than two years later. And then I waited another two and a half years until she said yes. And I would have gladly waited another five years or longer for her. She was so worth it." His voice turned bitter. "And then we had one year together. One blasted, single year! The most wonderful year of my life. And you know what? Now she's already longer dead than we were married... If that's no reason to drink what is?"

Thomas saw tears slowly run down the other man's face. He didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say, really. He thought about what Tom had said. He remembered being astonished when Tom told them one day that he and Lady Sybil were going to get married. He had assumed it was for the money on his side and had felt sorry for Lady Sybil being so stupid to marry way beneath her. He also assumed that the chauffeur had seduced the girl and that she was probably "in trouble". When it turned out that she wasn't, he had to admit that he had been wrong about Tom's motives. Anyone who had eyes could see that the couple had been deeply in love when they returned to Downton again for Lady Mary's wedding to Mr. Crawley.

"You know what?", Thomas finally said. "I never liked you and I don't know if I like many people, but I did like your wife. She was kind and caring."

The corners of Tom's mouth switched slightly. "Yes she was", he broke in a crooked smile now and raised the bottle to him. "And I never liked you either. I thought you were a scheming bastard."

Thomas nodded. "I thought you were a dead bore with all your politics and Ireland and never having fun", he suddenly started to grin. "I always thought you were handsome though."

Somehow both men found that very funny. The started to laugh so hard that they had to hold their sides.

"I think we should go to the house now", Thomas finally gasped, when they stopped laughing.

Tom nodded. "I guess so." He tried to rise, but couldn't get up. "Oups..."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Come on. I'll help ya." He pulled Tom to his feet.

"You think you can walk?"

Tom swayed a bit. "Sssure", he started towards the door, but almost tripped over his own feet. "See?"

Together they walked slowly to the house.

"Thomas", Tom said when they parted after sneaking into the house through the back door.

The underbutler turned around.

"Thank you."

Thomas smiled. "You're welcome", he said. And he was surprised himself that he really meant it.

THE END


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you to everyone who encouraged me to write another chapter. This popped into my head yesterday and I had to write it down. _

_Thank you very much, Scarlet, for editing this story for me!_

"Go Isis, where's the stick?"

Tom threw the stick as far as he could and laughed when the eager dog nearly did a somersault in her attempt to get to it. Tom praised her when she brought the stick back.

"Good girl!" He petted her and shook his head when she barked, expectantly waving her long tail.

"No, Isis. I'm sorry, but we can't play any more. I really must head home. I'm hungry!"

He ignored her pleading and continued his way through the park. He was returning from the nearest tenant whose farm was just about two miles from the house,and he had taken the opportunity to give Isis a bit of activity. The dog was missing her master. Lord Grantham was still visiting relations in Scotland with his family.

They weren't far from the house, when Isis suddenly jumped away from him and ran around a bush.

"Isis! My friend!". Tom heard a familiar voice. When he walked around the corner, he saw Thomas, the under butler sitting in the grass, his back leaning on a tree with a bottle of Whiskey next to him.

"Don't tell me you're doing this while you worked?" Tom asked, grinning a little."I thought after that experience last week you wouldn't touch whiskey again for a long while. I know I wouldn't!"

"Oh, look who's heeere! My drinking buddy! Ssssit down Mr. Branson. Sssit down. It's such a wonda- wonda- great day." Thomas smiled drunkenly, spilling a lot of the whiskey on the ground while waving the bottle around. "Want sum?"

Tom shuddered. "No, thank you." He still remembered the terrible hangover he had last week. It was then that he swore to not touch any alcohol for at least a month.

He sat down next to Thomas though. "So, after you lend me your ear last week, I assume it's only fair to ask why you are here?"

"Jimmy.", The other man said matter-of-factly. "He hates me,and I don't hate him. Ssshit, shit, shit all of it. I tell you."

Tom grimaced. "Can't blame him, really. After what they say you did last fall."

"But I didn't knooooow! I wouldn't have done it, really. I ssswear", Thomas laid his hand over his heart. "I'm not an asso- assa- an idiot. 'twas all O'Brien's fault." He sighed.

"What did happen between you and O'Brien anyway?" Tom asked curious. "I mean you were always close. And then now I hear you don't speak any more?"

Thomas hanged down his head. "Lllong story. It's about Alfred. Shhhe's like a mother hen protecting her chicks when it comes to him."

"So, what now?" Tom asked. "Why aren't you leaving? You're an under-butler these days and I'd bet they'd give you a good reference now. You could do much better."

"Maybe... but there's still that other thing", Thomas sighed, raising the bottle to his lips again. "At least here they know now. No need to hide any more. That's ssomething, too."

Tom nodded. "I guess so."

Thomas turned his head and tried to focus his somewhat blurry eyes at him. "Why are you ssoo liberal about it anyway? Didn't expect that, actually."

"I don't know" Tom shrugged his shoulders. "I believe that God made people different... and", he added after a little pause, "actually I know someone who's like you, too."

"You do?"

Tom nodded. "Yes", he seemed to think about saying more and added finally: "One of my brothers actually."

Thomas was silent for a minute. "Wow", he said. "And how does he live with it?"

"Not good", Tom said. "Hiding. Like you did, too. I don't think many people know. Not even everyone in the family. They might suspect but we don't talk about it. He told me though."

Thomas suddenly sniffled and Tom noticed he had tears in his eyes. "Thaaank youuu", the underbutler slurred. "That's consolation somehow."

"If you ever breathe a word about it, I'll kill you though", Tom warned him. "It's his secret and not mine and it's definitely nothing I want the rest of the staff or the family to know."

"Undersssstood", Thomas mock saluted and raised the bottle to him. Then he suddenly grinned.

"So tell me, that brother of yours, doesssshe l-looke like you?"

Tom raised an eyebrow. "They say so."

Thomas smirked and padded his shoulder. "You should invite him. You need family after all, buddy. And you can't go to Ireland, no, no." He wiggled his finger at him. "Shoo you really should invite that nice brother of you."

The corners of Tom's mouth twitched. "I suppose so."

He stood up and helped Thomas up, too. "Now let's get you into the house and sober again before Mr. Carson sees you. Otherwise, you'd not be here if that nice brother of mine ever came for a visit."

THE END


	3. Chapter 3

_I apologize in advance that this chapter is so depressing. I didn't intend to write it that way, but it somehow wrote itself and I couldn't help it. I hope to add another chapter with Thomas though and I hope it will be more cheerful. The drinking bromance continues!_

_I have to thank Scarlet again for her editing._

**May 1922**

"Morning, Tom." Lord Grantham entered the breakfast room on this nice spring day. The weather was wonderful and everything looked particularly sunny.

Except...

"Morning," came a very short reply from his son in law. He was pale and quite frankly looking extremely unwell today. Was he ill?

When it came to Tom Branson, Lord Grantham never really knew how to treat him. He no longer disliked his son-in-law. In fact, deep in his heart, he liked Tom. He had always known "Branson" was a very intelligent man, even back when he was a chauffeur at Downton. Even though he had always been a bit suspicious of his political views, he had always been impressed with how much and especially what the chauffeur read in his spare time. But now almost two years after Tom lived and worked again at Downton, Robert had also learned to respect his son in law's sense of duty, his honesty and his loyalty to the family. He also admired how he treated his little daughter.

Still they never talked about personal things. That was Cora's territory, who seemed to have found a motherly relationship with Tom. But the fellow really did looked bad today...

He put is fork down. "Are you ill? You don't look well, if you don't mind me saying so."

Tom sighed. "No, it's nothing." He looked on his plate and looked as if he wanted to add something, but decided against it. "Actually you're probably right. I don't think I can eat much today. I think I'll skip breakfast."

He stood. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to work."

When he closed the door behind him, he stood still for a second and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Her father really had no idea. Well, how could he, he hadn't even been there three years ago. But he had and he would never forget. He had to go through this day somehow. Working like crazy seemed like the best idea. And getting drunk in the evening, too. He didn't do that often and when he did it was always for the same reason. Today definitely was the day for it.

He worked at his desk for the rest of the morning, then spend the afternoon driving to various tenants and when he came home, he was too late to change for dinner. He asked Carson to excuse him to the family, visited Sybbie in the nursery for half an hour until she had to go to bed and then went right up to his room. He hadn't eaten the whole day. He was exhausted and feeling like hell. Good. No reminder of the feelings he had three years ago. And a good guarantee to get drunk very easily.

Now all he had to do was taking that bottle of Whiskey he had bought just for this day out of his cupboard and find a place where no one would disturb him. That was the difficult part. But he couldn't stay here. Not in this room. And not sitting on a bed. He needed a cold place and an uncomfortable one.

But where to find it? The house was still busy, the servants downstairs, the family in the dining room. As large as this house was, there was no privacy. Even in your own room you never knew whether one of the servants would come in to check on the fire, carry blankets, fetch dirty clothes or something. How he longed for their flat sometimes... how he longed for the past anyway...

He decided to go to the back of the house, behind the servant entrance. Nobody would be there at this time of the day, especially not on a chilly spring evening. He took good care that he wasn't seen by anyone when he moved down to the servants hall and quickly left the house through the back door.

It was pretty cold outside. Not yet dark, but the sun was just disappearing behind the stables. He went along the house around a corner where he thought he could be sure that no one would see him and sat down on the ground. He leaned his head on the wall and looked up into the sky.

"Sorry, love", he whispered quietly. "I shouldn't be here, sitting in the dust and in full intention of blowing my mind out of work for tonight. I should be with you, damn it..."

He took the Whiskey Bottle in his hand and opened it. "To our third anniversary!", he said loudly and took a big gulp.

"Don't tell me you're doing that again", he suddenly heard a voice say next to him. Thomas.

Tom sighed. "Not you again", he mumbled. "Don't you have anywhere else to be?"

The Under butler shook his head slowly. "Not really." He approached him and took his place next to Tom on the ground. "Anniversary, huh?"

"Yes." Tom took another sip from the bottle. "And actually, I don't want to talk about it. If you don't mind?" He indicated with his hand that he'd prefer the other man to leave, but Thomas remained seated.

"Good reason to drink, I guess", he agreed. "Come, take another sip, it'll go faster then."

They didn't talk for a while, just sitting there, while Tom worked on drinking as fast as he could and Thomas just sitting next to him in an strangely comforting silence. Finally Tom felt the effect of the liquid. His head was spinning, his feet were warm and heavy. He leaned his head back with a sigh and closed his eyes.

"Thanksss", he slurred. "It's working."

"Good for you", Thomas said. He hesitated. "Mind if I ask you something?"

Tom didn't say anything, but the under butler took that as a sign to continue.

"Why are you here outside? With me? Isn't there anyone in the family you could drown your sorrows with?"

Tom smiled unhappily. "They don't even think about it... none of them remembers the dddate." He took another sip and looked at Thomas. "And I didn't ask you to be here either."

"They don't know the date?" Thomas asked, ignoring the last sentence.

"Nope. Obvis...obvous... nope." Tom closed his eyes again. "I'm sssso sick."

Thomas smirked. "So soon? I thought that would follow tomorrow?"

Tom shook his head. "No, not that ssick. Just sick of these bloody cold fishes. Her father doesn't remember the day she married, Thomas. She was the sssweetest girl in the world and she thought of them all day. He didn't lead her down the aisle. My b-brother did. And I know she was sssad that her bloody father didn't come. She cried on her wedding day for Christ sssake! God, I can't bear it sometimes..."

"You're right, that sucks", Thomas agreed. He looked at Tom and pointed to the bottle. "Come on, a few more and you'll be okay. I'll help you to get in the house later."

He did as promised, thirty minutes later. It was difficult, but they managed to get in unseen somehow. Tom was far gone by that time. He would feel dreadful the following morning, Thomas knew, but not as dreadful as he probably felt that evening.

Thomas was not a man who allowed himself feelings of empathy very often, but when he saw the other man finally stumble in his room, his shoulders hanging, his normally handsome face blank and the blue and intelligent eyes glazing over from alcohol and cold from pain, he closed the door behind him and felt deeply sorry for him.

THE END


End file.
